


Pussyfooting

by Meltingpotlady



Series: V-adjacent Seduce Me AU [1]
Category: Seduce Me (Visual Novel), Seduce Me the Otome - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Multi, Polyamory, Pre-Poly, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, for my friends and my guilty pleasure, like a long prologue to the actual good stuff, not-quite-spite writing but close enough
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 19:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18697975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meltingpotlady/pseuds/Meltingpotlady
Summary: New project in the SM rewrite saga: “Just Another Day”: Where it’s Poly and in character and…nice. Sort of a prologue into what will connect with 'Five' in a way that's VERY poly and good. More V-adjacent stuff.





	1. Up and At 'Em!

Pussyfooting  
Up and At ‘Em (Sam section 1)  
Or, Local idiot gets pranked but there’s a fluffy payoff

On a school day, my day starts with an alarm. It is the first of several, a general loud, interrupting trill that I instinctually snap my hand out to silence. That alarm goes off at 9 in the morning, meant to cut off my background music. Settled in the fresh silence of the morning, I cup my phone, blinking slowly as I briefly look over the notifications. If nothing immediately catches my eye, I set it back down and turn back towards the sun’s warmth, settling back into a light doze. I’m not dead to the world anymore, simply waiting for the second alarm.

That alarm, without warning, is Sam. He knocks loudly at my door, startling me. I grumble under the sheets, and this leads Sam to assume I didn’t hear him and needs to let himself in. He enters with a rumbling sigh, “How does Damien manage this? The girl could sleep through fire if we let her.” 

I’m very much awake, but shock and now spite keep me still, swallowing snap-backs and eye rolls. His footsteps come up to the edge of the bed and stomp to a stop. The warmth of his hand cuts through the thin sheets and hovers over my shoulder, which is bare although I’m not topless. His hand is electric on my skin, and just as fast, it pulls away. “Seriously, why couldn’t Damien do this?” 

I want to say that Damien has never done anything. If I wake up with 15 minutes to eat and sprint outside, I handle that on my own. Sam’s most likely been pranked into coming in—by Matthew no doubt—with the expectation of hearing our fussing. He sighs, shifts his weight awkwardly. “I can’t just yank the sheets, the last thing I need is to get yelled at for ‘exposure’ or some dumb shit. 

Now I huff a sigh, tuck myself further under the sheets and wiggle towards the window. Of all things, sudden exposure would be the least of his problems if he yanked my covers away. Even so, I’d be more annoyed over the sudden chill then Sam getting an eyeful of cleavage and thighs. 

Sam stutters on a shout, quickly quiets to another annoyed grumble. “Can’t make anything easy for me, can you? You’ll miss breakfast if you keep this up, asshole.” I want to kick his knee, tell him all it takes is a good shoulder shake like a normal person. But, if I’m honest with myself, and during mornings like these I often am, there’s something in Sam’s voice that makes me want to play pretend a little while longer. He’s on the verge of saying something that will surprise me in the warmest way.

Again, the heat of his hand hovers, but near my hairline. A finger tucks a set of curls along my ear and it tickles enough to make me squirm. I know full well the heat on my skin is no longer Sam’s hand. I turn towards him, facing him now and blinking slowly. 

It takes a good deal of self-control to keep the ‘drowsy just woke up’ act when I watch Sam titter nervously, automatically assuming the worst. To his credit, he recovers quickly, crossing his arms. With an almost growl, he roughly flicks his head towards the floor. “Alright, shithead, you gotta get up. Can’t hide in bed all morning.” 

He thinks I don’t hear him when he mutters ‘Got me acting soft and starin’ too long’ as I get up and finally toss the sheets. 

“What are you doing in here?” I yawn and stretch my arms up. An errant shoulder strap rolls back into place during the process. Sam’s eyes track it. 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Trying to wake your ass, duh! You sleep deeper than a corpse.” 

Now I can freely roll my eyes in return, climbing out of bed with a pillow in my hand. “I would’ve been fine without you barging in, asshat. My alarm’s set to go off any minute.” On cue, my phone trills, and I quickly shut it off with a pointed look. 

Sam’s face goes red up to his ears. “How am I supposed to know? Matthew told me Damien was busy and you needed to get up. S’not like I do this on the reg.”

I throw my pillow. On reflex, Sam swipes it away, then fixes me with a scandalized, gawking glare. “What’s wrong with you? You get to sleep in and you have the balls to be cranky?” I laugh, hop onto the carpet and pick my weapon up again.

Bopping him with it—and being blocked every time—I snort and yawn and laugh still. “M’not cranky! You just need to get out, so I can dress!” When the pillow is ultimately swiped out of my hands, I resort to planting my palms on his chest and start pushing. 

It’s not easy, what with how heavy Sam is and my lack of real effort, but I’ve got a good angle, and he does stumble backward a few steps. “I’m going, I’m going! Stop pushing before you hurt yourself and I really do get in trouble.” Sam steps away from me and goes out to the hallway.

He turns to huff at me one more time, something soft in the back of his eyes, and my giggles soften to a good-natured hum. There’s a small smile of his own building up.

“Get outta here and tell Matthew his prank failed. And also not to eat all my scones or it’s bananas for him.” I shut the door before I can see his reflexive gag or the realization of brotherly mischief. 

Hidden away again in the silence of my room, I allow myself to ponder over what if’s and how nice his hand felt in my hair.


	2. Stroll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, Pre-Breakfast talking on the couch

The idea of a morning ‘stroll’ isn’t a stroll unless one counts walking the halls of the house as such. I find Damien curled up on the couch in the living room, enjoying the warmth of the couch blankets and my cat’s company. It looks like a good past time in the lingering minutes of the morning, so I join him. 

He doesn’t startle, well-aware of my coming. He also receives my body into his side with a practiced lift of his arms. “Good morning, sunshine. Sleep well?” Damien’s voice is soft enough that it makes me want to doze off and dream of it. His hand slightly tightens its grip on my shoulder, reacting to my impulse thoughts. 

“I slept alright, once I got there. How about you?” I tip my head up from the crook of his shoulder to try and make some eye contact, but I get mostly jawline, which is far from a complaint. One of my favorite traits of all these men is those jawlines. They’re regal, shaped uniquely to them, but still sharp to kill. The kind of jaw where, if he were to kiss any part of me, it would catch the light and hold it. 

Damien hums with a low nod, tips his head down so I see that not only his cheeks are a little warm and—oh geez, oh, right—but the rest of his face is just as doze-prone as mine. His smile is lazy, content. 

“Same. It’s nice to sleep, have good dreams.” 

“Mhm, although I don’t remember any particular dreams. Usually means they weren’t all that important. At least not enough to do a reading.” I shrug, the fingers of my free hand—the other is acting as a border between my cheek and his shoulder—flow along the spine of my cat. They work in tandem with Damien’s, so that as my fingers glide up, his follow along, a weird little dance that ensures our fingertips brush every now and again.

“Sunshine, I’m gonna disagree. All dreams have importance: either in the now, the distant past, or the future to visit.” His gaze is focused, the hand on my arm squeezing again. I’m briefly stuck in the change, how gentle but firm this belief of his is. 

“I won’t argue against that, but there’s a lot left wanting about a forgotten dream, I’d say.”

Damien hums again, shakes his head with a smile that seems the herald the sunlight. “Or, maybe it’s already come true. It’s forgotten because it’s no longer a dream.” He raises his eyebrow to coax a rise out of me, make me think. 

The uncertainties that pop in my head all revolve around what that ‘manifested dream’ could’ve been or could be. If it’s this moment, or the moments to come throughout the day, or the week, or maybe within the month. Then, a new, surprising, embarrassing question: did I dream of the incubi? With me, in a way that was more serious than now? It flusters me to think about because it’s not the first time I questioned lingering dreams or thought about having the boys to myself outside of housemates. It’s just that, before now, I’ve worked hard to bury those thoughts and lingering moments so that I didn’t make things awkward or start projecting ideals onto them. Infatuation is a stupid thing to lose friendships over, and I had to keep in mind that, well, these are incubi, it’s in their job description to be easy to someone to catch feelings because of them. Friends already question my relationship with them, I don’t think I could maintain restraint if the boys did, too. 

But, according to Damien’s theory, that could change from a definite to a maybe. And that was enough to uncork my suppressed daydreams. I stutter, work the inside of my cheek with my teeth. 

“Well uh, well what’d you dream about, my guy? It’s too early to play with hypotheticals and theories like this.” It’s not my best subject flip, but Damien is merciful and plays along.

“Oh, it’s nothing new, well, a little new. You know.” I do know, and I smile with interest.

“The kitten in the forest?” He nods, happy that I’ve remembered. As if I could forget the hours of tarot spreads and speculation every time he had the repeating sequence. 

“So what’s a little new?” Damien leans in as if to tell a great secret, “It looked at me. It wasn’t for a long time, maybe a solid minute, before it returned to drinking the pond water. As soon as it stopped looking at me, I woke up.” He pauses, periwinkle eyes warm and going right through me, “and as soon as I woke up, I thought of you.” 

I took a few surprised inhales, unable to look at him, my fingers tittering over my belly. Oh. I shook my head, deciding to focus on the dream, and not the fact that I was the first thing on Damien’s mind this morning. “Well, what do you think will change, now that the kitten has reacted to you?”

He leaned away, contemplative look back on his face. “Well, James suggested that kittens mean things like innocence, purity, and new stages in life that have been opened. I’m banking on the third option.” 

I took the bait. “What new stage, if you can name it?” 

His smile going crooked and his stance reclining, broad shoulders settling back on the couch, Damien took a leisurely breath. 

“Dunno. Maybe the same stage as your forgotten dream.” The smell of well-cooked eggs and meat filled the air, pulling me out of the moment. Thank goodness. 

“Smells likes James is ready with breakfast. You should eat up, sunshine.” Damien gently lifts me up a little, so he can get up and stretch. His hand then offers to pull me up, which I take. Still not quite able to meet his eyes, I rock a bit on the balls of my feet, feeling the pull in my calves. 

“Yeah, he’d like it if I help set the table, I know.” Damien doesn’t quite turn away, and at that moment I decide to let impulse guide me. I take the half-step to hug him, our height difference is such that I can rest my cheek right where his chest becomes torso, so each breath presses his body closer to me, raises me with each inhale. 

“Oh! This is nice, sunshine,” he mumbles, his hands resting on my head and between my shoulders. They’re wide and warm, like the rest of him. I realize just how touch-starved I’ve been.

It’s silly how often I deny myself the comfort of really touching and interacting with the incubi for fear of taking advantage. They need this just as much as I do, and even if this weren’t simply for their regular energy exchange, it’s still a nice, perfectly normal thing for friends to do. I treat my other friends like this, not afraid to cuddle them, so why should they be different? 

“All this talk of dreams, I guess. Got me in a mood.” Damien ‘ahhs’ understandingly, and then we settle into each other. The hand in my hair briefly travels towards my cheeks, but he catches himself. I do my damnedest to hide my disappointment and not turn my face to chase after his touch. “Come on, sunshine. You do need to eat.” 

During breakfast, that for once I take in the dining room with everyone, I can’t stop trying to recall my dream. I want to figure out what it’s trying to tell me or how it’ll affect my day. I imagine that, if he could, Damien would guide me along in the search. I know he’s listening in, eager to understand as I am, which helps. Maybe if I have time I’ll do a spread for it. 

After breakfast, I stare at my tarot box, playing with the idea of doing a spread now, while my mind is fresh on the subject. I unwrap it from its shawl and set it aside. 

Smoothing the shawl over my desk, I take a few calming breaths, clearing my mind from outside frets, anything that doesn’t have to do with the dream and it’s secrets. Then I open the box, gently take the cards in my hand and meticulously shuffle. I’m in a half-awake state, watching the cards to make sure they don’t spill, but the rest of my mental space still focused on what I want to discuss. 

I lay out my spread and put the cards aside. Then flip them. They show a similar reading to whenever I poured over Damien’s kitten dream. Desire, eagerness, new beginnings. Nervousness, surprise. Readiness. Forward motion towards the better.


End file.
